Butter Whore
by Mr.Panic Attack
Summary: Alfred quickly sinks into a weight related depression with the help of his fellow countries. Eating disorder Fanfiction with Anorexic!Bulimic! America.
1. Teasing and Prodding

_**WARNING, STORY CONTAINS SELF HARM, ANOREXIA, BULIMIA, AND EXTREME SELF HATE**_

 **AN: Updated the chapter so that there are less mistakes and a bit of improved writing. It isn't that much to fuss over, but I'm a little bit of a perfectionist. Anyways, this is author taking out their frustrations on their favourite blond, and being angry about everything. Thank you for all of the reviews, it keeps me writing. Hope you enjoy, or at least have something to burn tonight along with those pictures of Trump.**

Jealous. They were all jealous of him, and he was all jealous of them. Envy flowed through Alfred's stomach and up his throat as he retched up what was left of the apple he'd eaten that day. He could barely hold the hundred calories in his now empty stomach. The bone thin country remembered the days when he had to throw up at least three times to get it all out. All that horrible, disgusting food in his body. Back when Arthur used to insult him every chance he could. The days when he lived in a less personal hell. Induced by others, those who didn't know him too well. The place he resided in now was even worse. An intimate nightmare, a hell in which the demons were everything he'd ever known, twisted into his deepest darkest fears. Alfred F. Jones was at a point of extreme desperation. Bu now, let's head back to where it all began. One fateful day at a meeting of the allies.

¨Oi! Watch where you're walking you bloody tub of lard!¨

This was the third time in the last hour that Arthur had snapped at Alfred about his weight. The countries had taken a break to just stretch their legs, and the American had happened to accidentally bump into Arthur, and was pushed a bit harder than usual, hitting the wall. For a reason he couldn't identify, the comment really hit Alfred somewhere deep, and he stayed silent instead of retorting with his usual clever remark. This earned him a confused glance from the short Brit, but he brushed it off and they both continued on their ways. Alfred glared at his reflection in the bathroom as he lifted his shirt up a little and grabbed the five pounds of pudge that thinly layered his stomach. In all reality it was completely normal, healthy in fact, but the blonde wasn't having it. The small bit of skin and pudge that he held between the two fingers suddenly became a giant roll of fat, among many others, and he stepped back in surprise, letting go of the skin and looking up into the mirror with wide, shocked eyes.

¨A-Am… Am I really that big?¨

He thought aloud, his sharp jawline turning into many chins as his sadistic imagination twisted his body imagine into a morbidly obese man. And to the vain American, that was horrific.

The second half of the meeting began as the representation of America sat down at the abnormally large meeting table, only a few seats away from his older brother, England. Al sighed softly as he sat down, and opened his notebook for the first time in forever, beginning to loosely jot down his thoughts at the moment.

¨Oh Alfred? Finally taking notes, I see!¨

Francis mocked, his tone dripping with over exaggerated surprise.

¨He's probably only writing down the addresses of all the McDonald's in the area, aru!¨

Yao chimed in, laughing along with the other countries as they all took out their issues on the insecure American.

¨That fattie doesn't know how to write down anything but a food order!¨

¨He's probably eaten a third, fourth, and fifth breakfast!¨

¨You should see how much sugar he puts in his coffee!¨

¨It all goes right to his stomach! You can see it jiggle whenever he walks!¨

¨Guys, I finally found out what the F stands for! Its fat! Alfred Fatass Jones!¨

Everyone erupted into howling and sadistic laughter as the American stood up and sulked out of the room with his notebook, carrying his new diet plans under his left arm.

The second Alfred got home, he pulled out the trash bin and went through his kitchen, an angry sobbing mess as he began throwing everything that was even slightly unhealthy into the garbage, promising that he would never eat any sugar again. When he finished emptying the majority of the pantry, Al took the full to bursting bag outside, and threw it in the trash bin for the garbage workers to pick up on their rounds that night. Tears flowed down his tan and flushed cheeks as the American ran back inside his house, quiet sobs escaping his mouth as he rushed up to his bedroom and hid under the heavy, reassuring covers of his bed. Alfred soaked his pillow with tears as he lamented over his weight, curling up into a ball, and eventually passing out from exhaustion. He dreamt of past days and other times countries had commented on his weight, but he was too stupid to think anything of it. It was a horrid and exhausting sleep.

America woke drenched in sweat and extremely tired, as he'd slept fitfully, and the nightmares still lingered at the back of his eyes, threatening to pull him back down into the horrific hell he'd just recently escaped. He quickly got out of bed, and realized how heavy he felt. God the fat was practically dripping off him, wasn't it?

"Fucking fatass and your stupid fucking ´ll never be thin enough, you goddamn butter whore. "

Al scolded aloud, gripping the thin bit of fat he had so hard that it would bruise in the later hours of the day. He immediately grabbed his laptop and sat back down on his bed, deciding today was going to be a research day, and that he was going to stop at nothing to be thin again, to be handsome again. Just like the old days.

Tab after tab was opened, and despite every damn Weight Watchers advertisement, and all of the seemingly ´healthy´ ways all of the sites displayed the dishes of food, the images struck something in Alfred that resembled disgust. It was quite unnatural and out of character for the American to make such a 180 degree spin on anything at all, but the more he thought about it, the more it all made sense. Arthur and Matthieu had always teased him, even when he was younger, about how much he ate, and how fast he did. Then, as he became a country, It was everyone's favourite thing to poke and prod at. America´s appearance. Alfred took care of himself quite well, but as everyone started progressing, and the country's obesity rate rose like a glass under a fire hose, and the teasing got worse. Now, jokes were always made at his expense during world meetings. no one ever teased him about his glasses anymore, it was fat this and stupid that. He'd ran to his older brother for comfort, but was turned away. Now all England did was take out his frustrations on Alfred. Like Al was an emotional punching bag, and god did the Brit have a mean right hook.

After hours and hours of scrolling through dieting websites and google results pages, Alfred finally came upon something interesting. It was a Tumblr blog called ´Perfection Girls´. The curious American scrolled over posts about ´diets´ and extreme exercise routines. It all seemed to work extremely well, and Al opened the ask box to write a question.

"Hey, I'm a disgustingly fat guy and I was wondering if you have any information on how I could lose a lot of weight, fast. I really need the help. Thanks, The Butter Whore."

He hit send, and continued to scroll through the blog, seeing pictures of bony girls and stick thin guys, all posing happily in front of the camera. They seemed so accomplished, yet so dead inside. If that was what it took for everyone to stop laughing at him, then that was what he was going to do. Alfred didn't even notice the tears until one fell on his hand, making him jump a little. He could just feel the fat jiggling as he pulled back, and his breath hitched in his throat, holding itself, almost as if suffocating the blonde was what would solve everything. He was finally able to breathe again as he let out a strangled sob, horrid depression clouding his vision. Al finally just fell over onto his bed and gripped the covers in his shaky hands, letting out soft cries and sounds of pain as he curled into a little ball, letting the comments of yesterday really get to him.


	2. Echoing Laughter

_**WARNING! GRUESOME NIGHTMARES, TALK OF EATING DISORDERS, AND DEPRESSION AHEAD!**_

 **AN: I tried to finish this quick because of everyone wanting the second chapter now. I'm really surprised at all proof the reviews, and I'm really grateful for every review left on my page! Thanks! Anywho, Have a fun time with this nightmare of a chapter.**

Alfred woke up in his warm bed, and smiled at first, happy to be awake until the memories of yesterday flooded into his mind. He sighed, and as the big breath left his body, so did his strength. The representation of the U.S. felt helpless, and took in a strangled breath, trying his best not to cry again as he worked up the energy to push the covers off of his top half. It felt like lifting an elephant, and Al once again felt unable to move when the covers were off. Each attempt at moving took at least five minutes, and then four, and three, as he had to sit and breathe for a little bit each time before sluggishly attempting to use his body. After half an hour, he had managed to sit up in his bed, and get his laptop open on his lap. Typing and such did not require too much, so the blonde took shallow breaths to preserve his energy. There were days when he woke up like this, but only when a large amount of his population was mourning a death and such. After 9/11, he wasn't able to get out of bed for weeks afterwards. But this was just Alfred now, not the country he represented, but the man himself. He opened Tumblr, and immediately decided to make a side blog to help him lose the mass amount of weight he thought he had. When it came to the name, Al remembered how he'd signed off the question yesterday, and decided that Butter-Whore was an appropriate title. He hit enter, and checked the activity on his usual blog. When he saw the little pop-up, he immediately clicked on the notification, and saw that his question had been answered. It read;

"Hello there, I'm one of the male admins of this blog, and would be happy to let you know how to lose weight! My main tactic is purging, a process of throwing up when you do happen to eat. I just stick my fingers down my throat and puke. If you decide to try this, make sure to drink a lot of water when you eat, and make sure that you throw up as much food as you can. Remember, your tummy isn't growling, it's applauding! Love, Bread Glutton.~"

Alfred was a bit grossed out at first, but decided to look up this so called purging. The Google search bar was filled with things such as, what is purging? How to purge? Purging tips? It only ended at about two pm, when Alfred had gathered enough information to fill the entire pentagon. His research had consisted of not only purging, but anorexia as well. He'd seen all of the warnings about how it was really bad for you, and you could die from it, but at this point, Alfred would rather die than go back to those countries with his disgusting body. He knew what would happen. They would tease him mercilessly, and corner him into a room built of his own fears and insecurities, eventually locking him inside. Al swore that he would lose all the weight he could, and once he was thin enough, he would go and show them. He would show all of the countries just what he could do. America did have self control, and could do anything he set his mind to! The determination built up inside Alfred as he smiled a little, and went to research the nearest gyms, and how to burn off the most calories. Alfred set up an exhausting exercise routine, one that even Germany would have a hard time finishing, and grinned. He was going to be thin and handsome in no time at all! Maybe then Arthur could finally be proud of him. Maybe then he could be organized, and be the world's best country, for real this time. Not just because they were a democracy with lots of guns, but because he would have fit, and sensible people, and could offer everything in times of need. He would turn in everything in on time, and make everyone look up to him. Yeah, that's the spirit! Alfred grinned, and made his hands into determined fists as he shut off his laptop and placed it aside, finally noticing the time.

"10:57?! Wow…"

He said softly, thinking aloud.

"God that's almost as much as I weigh…"

Al sighed, quickly returning back to his earlier depressed state. The county quickly got under the covers and settled in before the fatigue settled in, dragging him into a horrid and restless sleep. Though, the blonde couldn't tell you what was worse, the nightmares, or waking up to his miserable reality.

It all started off in a park. The Axis and Allies were all small children, playing on the structures made for them, and Alfred watched as he sat down on a nearby bench. The American was a full sized country, and shivered in the frigid autumn air as the beautiful scene unfolded before him. A park near a long stretch of forest, the trees all beautiful warm hues despite the freezing temperature. There was the distinct smell of nature in the air, the earthy scent filling Alfred's nose as he took a deep breath and shut his sapphire eyes. It was heavenly. Childrens laughter filled the air along with the rustling of leaves, and the soft noises of the park equipment. Swings creaked a little as they were pushed, the hobby horse squeaked just slightly, and the little xylophone attached to the play structure rang out with lovely but odd notes as someone hit the metal plates. The moment was lovely and peaceful, something that Alfred desperately needed. After a few minutes though, all the American could hear was stray giggles, and he opened his eyes, seeing all seven of the big countries on the play structure, looking at him.

"Come play with us, America!"

A small Feliciano chirped, an eager smile on his chubby face. Everyone else nodded, and murmured along in agreement, seemingly excited for the blondes company. Many little hands reached for the man as he stood and slowly walked over, a smile on his wind bitten face. Alfred walked up the metal stairs, and crouched to fit under the small gate at the top of everything. Halfway through, he got stuck and looked at the smaller nations for help. No one did anything but Feliciano, who reached forward and took Alfred's glasses off. Once the lenses were removed, America saw the dream for what it really was, a horrifying nightmare. All the countries were grown now, and they stood over him, laughing hysterically. The sweet autumn afternoon had turned to the dead of night, but seemingly much more menacing. The sky was a deep royal purple, and black clouds hung overhead, menacing in nature. The beautiful forest had turned to a frightening wood, the trees all dead and broken, frightening faces carved into the bark of each and every one of them. The play structure, which had previously been colorful and well made, was now burnt and twisted, many of the metal bars broken and wickedly sharp, ready to slice a vein or take a life at any moment. Many of the blades were wrapped around Alfred's seemingly huge torso, and cut into him as he struggled, trying desperately to escape the echoing laughs that mocked him. Soon, it all hurt too much to continue, and he lay still, tears flowing openly down his tan cheeks as he cried. It was almost unbearable. Every country took turns kicking him, and snapping at the American with lewd and hurtful comments as the others cheered.

 _ **"**_ _ **DOWN WITH AMERICA!"**_

 _ **"**_ _ **DOWN WITH THE GLUTTON!"**_

 _ **"**_ _ **DOWN WITH THE WHORE!"**_


	3. The Mocking Picture Box

_**WARNING: SELF HARM, SELF HATE, EXTREMELY DEPRESSING.**_

 **AN: So uh, geez, over 600 views. Thanks you guys. Hope you enjoy this _EXTREMELY SHORT_ chapter**

Alfred gasped and sat straight up in his bed, shaking and crying. The shock of reality didn't last long, for when he realised it was all a dream, Alfred fell back down into his bed, and sobbed into his pillow. Big, desperate, and heartbroken sobs as he relived the horrid nightmare every time he closed his eyes. It took about half an hour for the American to be able to calm down, and be able to breathe normally. A few tears continued to stream down his face as he thought about the nightmare, a little paranoid about it all. What did it mean? Did the other nations really hate him that much? _Of course they did._ Why else would he have a dream like that? And why else would they all laugh at him when he slipped up in the slightest? God, he was so fucking stupid. It was almost unbelieveable. Anyone could've made better decisions than he had. Maybe he could just give his country over to Sealand. At least it would make the kid happy before he was conquered. Arthur would probably just push the tiny nation back out to sea and reclaim his precious country.

Al didn't even care at this point. He wanted to die. He wanted to just retire from this horrible immortal life and just phase out of existence. Alfred grabbed his pillow again and let out a soft sob into it, followed by a pained cry. The nation lived alone, so there wasn't an issue of people hearing him. He could scream all he wanted and nobody would ever know of his sorrow. Alfred took a while to get up, and was eventually successful, his legs almost giving out a time or two.

"You're so fucking weak, you fucking glutton."

He thought aloud, cursing his imaginary weight. Al hadn't eaten in about two days, as he couldn't get out of bed, and his stomach cramped up, growling angrily at its owner. Alfred thought about food, and dug his nails into his palms, using all of his self control he could muster.

The American decided to distract himself with a little TV, and made his way to the living room, sitting down on the couch with a sigh. The picture box was turned on, and Cake Boss immediately came on, Alfred sneering as his stomach grumbled again, and quickly switched the channel. Now it was Fox News, spouting some more shit about the presidential election, and how Trump had almost half the countries votes. Alfred was disgusted by the thought, and switched again. This went on for about an hour.

Food network.

Switch.

Sitcom at the dinner table.

Switch.

News.

Switch.

Death of some handsome guy.

Switch.

More food.

Switch.

Fat.

Switch.

We hate you.

Switch.

You're useless.

Switch.

Die.

Switch.

Alfred shook his head to clear the thoughts from his head as he shut the television shut off, sighing at the self hate he felt welling up in his lungs. Suddenly, it got a little two hard to breathe, and he began to hyperventilate, choking on air as he panicked. Everything began to get fuzzy as his anxiety become more and more prevalent, grabbing him by the throat and whispering horrible things into his ears before he passed out completely, hitting his head on the coffee table as he fell.

The nation woke up with a fair amount of blood in his beautiful hair, as he had cracked his head a little. Alfred sat up groaning, unsure of what had just happened. All he could remember was the television mocking him as he stopped breathing. He managed to stand, his legs shaking like a newborn deer as he hobbled his way to the bathroom, weak and depressed. Pathetic. You can't even watch TV without hearing things. Freak. Psycho. God, he should just kill himself now. Al took one of the shaving razors out of the drawers under the sink, and took it apart, tearing his nails a little from the extremely hard plastic. He swore under his breath, but eventually got out the three slivers of metal out of their plastic cage, and placed two of them back in the drawer, keeping the third one in his hand as he turned on the shower. Alfred stepped on his scale as the water heated up, and watched the numbers. 159. 159 pounds. God, he felt like a fatass. Even though he, as a country, had abnormal weight fluxuations, he was still human, and could control his weight if he really wanted to. Al just stood there for a good five minutes, just internally screaming at the number he felt was so damn large. It was devastating how much he weighed, and finally snapped out of it when he felt something drip onto his foot. He had happened to be clenching the thin razor in his palm as he made a fist, and it had cut into him without the American noticing.

Typical. Psychopaths didn´t feel pain, did they? Alfred quickly stripped down and stepped into the scalding water, not even caring at this point as his skin turned a bright red instead of its usual tan. Oh well. His hair and body were quickly washed, and he sat in the water for a while, taking deep breaths when he forgot to breathe. It was so hard now, almost as if his lungs had shrank three sizes, or if he was breathing through a coffee straw. He imagined it must be how smokers breathed, but that still didn't make any sense, He hadn't smoked a cigarette in years, and only had one when his country was puffing away and the craving for nicotine got a little too strong. Al sighed again, and looked down at the razor in his hand, wondering if it would even help. He'd always heard about it and seen it in movies, and if it was that popular, then it must work a little, right? And better a razor than pills.

The nation leaned against the shower wall, and stared at the shiny slice of metal. It seemed almost impossible that something so small could cut so deep, but he guessed it was a good metaphor for where he was now. Everyone´s small words had chipped away at his confidence until he was at this point, shaking and broken. Alfred began to rethink his decision to cut himself, but quickly drew the razor over his thigh before he could say no. He gasped in pain, staring as he seemed to almost float out of his body. It was almost as if he was watching someone else's body through his own eyes. It stung, but the pain felt good, and it brought him back to earth. It felt so real, and so sweet, like some concentrated version of strawberry syrup. Alfred watched as the blood dripped down his thigh, hot and thick and red as he'd only seen in wars. Who´d have thought the gashes he once was so disgusted by would be inflicted by his own hand. But then again, what had he become? A fat, disgusting mess unworthy of anything even close to clean. This is who he was now, and the razor fit into his skin like a puzzle piece, tearing away at the fragile skin again and again and again.


	4. Life Update

**Hey, so apologies on the delay. It's been a while now, and I haven't updated, but I promise the next chapters are on their way. My 9-5 job is super exhausting, and I've fallen into another depressive episode, which I am working on. As well as all of that, I've been banned from the internet by big bad dad because of a few things including 27 stitches on the inside of my left forearm. The next chapters are on their way, but it will be a bit. Again, I'm quite sorry, and I haven't abandoned this story, so don't fret.**


	5. A Nice Walk

**WARNING: BLOOD, DEPRESSION, BULIMIA AND ANOREXIA, EXTREME DEPRESSION AND SHITTY WRITING  
** ** _Anywho, Guess who's finally updating! Your own glorious shitty fic writer is back on the pity train!_** ** _*Sounds of depressed cheering and clapping in the background*_** ** _Told you I hadn't abandoned y'all. Sorry about the low word count and desperate writing, I gave ya the whole shpeel last update. Anyways, enjoy, I guess._**

 _ **~Just a normal whore**_

It had been two months since this whole ordeal started, and Alfred was bone thin. His once shining and smooth hair was now brittle and dry, malnourished from lack of food, and over washed as well. Now Alfred spent hours in the shower, falling asleep and snapping awake, repeating the routine of cleaning himself like machinery. That's all Alfred was these days. Machinery. He had a schedule that revolved around exercise, and a mind that revolved around his body. 51 Pounds had been dropped from his body, all muscle and mass eating itself to stay alive. Once a week Alfred had an eating day, because despite his intense, intense desire to leave this godforsaken world, he had to stay alive. It was just instinct. Some instinctual force inside of him would tell him to eat something, anything, _just to eat._ He was a wreck, but somehow managed to get up everyday and run. Even if it was up from off the bathroom floor like today.

Blood and bile in his mouth and on his lips as he stood, tasting the familiar feeling of 'success' on his tongue. Throwing up until he passed out. Handful after handful of water washed out Alfred's tongue and teeth and well as an overused toothbrush that was never able to scrape the taste of hatred and fat out of the sick nation's mouth. Eventually the American was able to complete his morning routine, swallowing as many weight loss pills as he could before having an overdose, getting dressed in baggy jogging clothes so the rest of the world didn't need to see his grotesquely fat form, and plugging his headphones into his ears as he left the house for the only time that day, to run until he couldn't stand. Alfred ran down the empty street in his neighbourhood, flying past the houses of his neighbours who peeked out to see their rarely shown friend, who hadn't invited anyone over to a summer barbeque in months, or even answered his door when they knocked. He ran down into town, and past small businesses and cafe's he used to love, but now never ventured inside, as the smell, the mere thought of food disgusted him, and it would be suicide to his 'diet' if he were to break down and eat something other than the bland celery his humanity clung onto for dear life. It wasn't a choice he couldn't break.

Halfway into the run, Alfred was slowing down in the park, pacing himself to a jog as he passed through the deep nature reserve that brought him a little joy. It was a nice jog, and a faint smile found it's way onto his exhausted and sunken in face as he ran along the dirt path, slowly approaching someone he couldn't quite make out. The nation's glasses had broken a couple weeks ago, as he'd passed out and smacked his face on the kitchen counter, not only snapping them in half but shattering one of the lenses, the marks of the thick shattered glass still healing around his right eye. Dark little scabs over the deep little jabs that were dangerously close to his dull blue eyes. The stranger got closer and closer, slowing down as the two approached, almost seeming to stop a metre away from Alfred. The American stopped as well his near sighted vision focusing up on the person who looked scarily like someone he used to know. Someone he wished he didn't. Alfred took a few wary steps closer and squinted his eyes, his vision finally somewhat clear as he saw the one person he'd sworn off ever talking to again.

"A-America? Is that y-you?"  
The British accent asked, confirming that it indeed was the representation of England. For some goddamned reason, Arthur Kirkland was in the way of Alfred's run, preventing him from finishing his exercise. And that scared the American more than anything. He took a few hasty steps backwards as he saw the Englishman step towards him, and then turned around, breaking out into a desperately fast run as the terror kicked in, and Arthur started calling after him. He ran off the path, breaking through to the thick wood, not caring how the trees and shrubbery cut and smacked him, as the only pain he could feel was the emotional terror of his old friend finding him. His old mentor, the man he used to look up to and confide in, who had turned to a monster in his head. A pure representation of the hate he thought he so rightly deserved.

Alfred's eyes stung with tears as he ran, the raw emotion ripping down his cheeks like dull saw blades as he ran back out of the woods and up into town, tearing past other civilians and not watching out for cars as he crossed intersections. At this point, getting hit by a car would be better than anything. Maybe that was what he needed to try next, as all the overdose attempts, slitting arteries and hangings hadn't worked yet. The blonde flew past his neighbours yet again, watching them freeze as they caught a glimpse, shocked at what he had become. Alfred ran inside, locked every door and window he had, and cried, falling down on the living room floor. His lungs coughed up blood onto the off white surface, staining it yet again with the fluid that he so dearly needed. Alfred almost choked on the thick hot liquid before passing out, his subconscious getting the better of him yet again.


	6. Hourly Breakdowns

**WARNING: ANOREXIA, BULIMIA, EXTREME DEPRESSION AND SHITTY WRITING AHEAD**

 _ **Hah, actually getting into this story now that my depression has worsened. This one's a longer update, thank god. It means a lot to me when people leave reviews, so if you follow or favourite the story, even just a 'good job' or some shit would be fucking great. Anyways, enjoy.**_

Arthur Kirkland was speeding his car up to Alfred's address, worried as all hell. He'd recently taken a walk in one of the nice parks around the area to calm himself before going to the American's house to see if he was alright. The Brit was quite the worrier, and the complete cut off of contact from his friend had him a little more than panicked. At first he just dismissed it as Alfred's boss pulling him aside for something and the clumsy blonde just forgetting to tell the others he wouldn't be there for any meetings. But then a month passed, and then two, and not even Kiku, one of Alfred's best friends, had seen anything. They were always talking about new video games with each other, and even a few of the big releases hadn't triggered any digital or face to face conversation between them.

Arthur, in all of his anxiety had spent hours on the internet, searching up the nation's social media to see if anything had been posted in the last months. The Brit knew it was disrespectful to look up others social media without permission, but at this point he had abandoned all morals to see if Alfred was alright. There was nothing on twitter, or facebook, or even his tumblr blog, but Arthur was determined, and after over _thirteen hours_ of desperate clicking and searching around, he found a tumblr blog called Butter-Whore. It was full of pictures and posts of anorexia, and stupid, harmful quotes like 'Your stomach isn't growling, it's cheering for you!' The entire blog revolved around losing weight by any method possible, including throwing up and just not eating at all. Arthur was horrified, but natural curiosity made him go deeper, to his horror's delight.

One of the posts was a compilation of what all the youngsters called 'selfies' of Alfred, shirtless and smiling. The thing is it wasn't some innocent after workout selfie, Alfred didn't look healthy or happy, his skin was dull and pale instead of it's lovely natural tan, he had no muscles, and his bones protruded from his skin as if his skeleton desperately wanted to escape from his body at all costs. Even the caption was dark and desperate. " _Seven weeks into the new diet, and it's working great, still can't seem to get any of the extra pudge off me though, haha. Upping the workout a little and hopefully all this disgusting baby fat will be gone! ;) ~ButterWhore_. It was terrifying to Arthur how skeletal and depressed the American looked, and Arthur booked a plane ticket right then, silent tears and all. Now he was in Alfred's country, in his town, his neighbourhood, knocking at his door. The first few were quiet, the next louder, and the last were practically pounding on the door.  
"Alfred? Alfred, darling please answer the door."

He knocked again, cursing the small tears he felt come to his eyes.  
"Alfred please, everyone's so worried about you…"  
The Brit said again, unaware of how the nation was passed out on the carpet in a small pool of his own blood. Arthur tried the handle, but it was locked, and he gave up, walking back to his car and starting it, and as always, having trouble with the driving lanes in that damned country. Multiple phone calls were made, and he quickly booked his flight to the next meeting, breaking down and silently crying every couple hours or so.

The meeting was scheduled to start at 12pm sharp, but everyone was there at least ten minutes early, pacing around and giving each other nervous glances, a little freaked out about the _'land of the free'_ not showing up again. The nations sat as the clock struck twelve, letting out a dozen big 'bongs' into the eerily quiet building. It was chilly in London, but the cold air wasn't what made the room so frigid. All eyes were on the representation of England, as the host always began the meeting. He cleared his throat, and looked up for a minute before looking down at his notepad again, trying his best to keep composed.  
"We are going to start the meeting on a slightly…different topic today."  
Arthur choked out, seeming strained.

"Y-You all have noticed that the representation of The United States of America has failed to attend meetings for the past two months."  
The silent room was filled with quiet whispers as the sentence was finished, the words obviously stirring up interest.  
"The President of America says he has not heard from the U.S in an equal amount of time and is concerned. As a previous caretaker and close friend of the nation, I recently took a personal t-trip to his home…"  
Arthur had to take a few seconds to compose himself, biting his lip and taking a nervous breath before speaking again.  
"I h-happened to accidentally run into him before going to his h-house, A-And I f-fear I may h-have some u-unf-fortunate news."  
Small tears welled up in the nation's eyes and he looked down at the table as if it had the answers to all of his worries. The entire table of countries was on edge, leaning forward and holding their breath, wanting to know how bad it all was.

 _"_ _A-Alfred is v-v-very sick and I-I-I d-don't know wh-what to d-do! Dear god, i-it's_ _ **t-terrif-fing!**_ _He's a-a-a sk-skeleton! His e-eyes a-are so dull and h-he's s-so so a-afraid!"_  
Arthur broke down, leaning into the offered embrace of Francis, who sat beside him. He was sobbing in only a way that a big brother could. Desperately afraid for Alfred's life. He'd watched America grow up, loved him, protected him, watched him fight for freedom and achieve it. The other nations were panicked, and the entire meeting room was filled with absolute chaos. Germany, as usual, was trying to get everyone to calm down but to no avail. Italy clung to the German's legs, crying and whining for Ludwig to comfort him. Russia just stared off into the distance, amethyst eyes sad and terrified. China sat with his head in his hands, staring down in disbelief as he muttered panicked Chinese to himself. Japan was shaking, hugging himself as he stared holes into the table, trying to comprehend the possibility of his best friend, his happy-go-lucky, never give up, peppy and almost annoyingly cheerful best friend, could be sick like that.

After a good half hour of pure panic and anxiety, everyone had composed themselves enough to sit back down and continue the meeting. Arthur took a big breath and squeezed Francis's hand under the table for comfort before addressing the nations again, trying to be as gentle as he could. Especially for Feliciano, who was curled up in Ludwig's lap, still holding on tight to the German.  
"Ahem, s-sorry, that was v-very… Unprofessional of me. I am g-going to request that a few of you t-take a short trip with me t-to A-America's house and try to solve this s-situation."  
Every country jumped at the opportunity, but Arthur shook his head.  
"I-If you will accept t-the offer, I would like R-Russia, J-Japan and France t-to accompany m-me. Please stay b-behind. As for the r-rest of you, the meeting is adjourned. We've h-had enough to deal with to-today."  
And with that, everyone stood and catered to their own, now very worried business.


	7. Puddles of Burgundy

**WARNING: ANOREXIA, DEPRESSION, MENTAL DISORDERS, BLOOD, AND SHITTY WRITING AHEAD  
** ** _AN: Here's the next chapter, again, sorry it's so short, but it's better than nothing. I'm thinking about making this RusAme, but who the hell knows where it's going at this point? I certainly don't. Please Please Please leave me a response, they always make me smile, and considering how low and depressed I am at the moment, that's a whole fuckng lot. Sorry for any weird errors. Hope you enjoy._**

Alfred was taking another shower, rubbing his sore head as the next to boiling water fell on his skeleton. It had been a week since the blonde had seen his older brother, but Alfred hadn't left the house, either too exhausted to move, or too fucking afraid. His supply of celery was gone, and there was nothing in the kitchen besides a small shaker of pepper. Alfred had rid himself of the salt because of his fear of sodium intake. The water pipes let out a small grunt, and Alfred immediately snapped into panic mode, thinking the sound would've been Arthur, getting into his house despite the high security and locked doors that'd been installed due to the nation's extreme paranoia. Alfred immediately flattened himself to the bathtub floor and turned off the water, hiding from whatever was in his house as if it would kill him. Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty as Al shakily decided the house was clear. He slowly stood and turned on the water, the pipes sounding again, causing the terrified blonde to immediately shut off the water and drop to the floor, silently sobbing as he curled up into a ball

The shower had ended two hours later, a montage of squeaking pipes, desperate sobbing, and knocking out from loss of food. Alfred was now up in his room, dressed in layer after layer of shirts and sweatpants, trying his best to stay warm under the clothes and a mountain of thick blankets. Dry tears in his eyes, the representation of America closed his eyes, quiet and depressed as he fell into a sluggish state, too exhausted to do anything. The cold seemed to come from inside him, and tormented Alfred's immobile body, icicles stabbing through his lungs and stomach, twisting at every corner and fading in and out. Dull then sharp, sharp then dull, sudden horrid stabs of pain through the fog of sloth that had eclipsed Alfred's slowly dying mentality. The only thing keeping him from death was his immortality as a country. Anyone else would have starved at this point, but all Alfred could do was let out soft cries and whimpers of sudden pain, sounding more and more desperate with each sound. Time was nothing anymore, and the pain and smog seemed to last forever before pulling the blonde into a deep sleep, nightmares reaching out to grasp Alfred's consciousness

"Do any of you know how to pick a lock?"  
"Yes, but we have no tools."  
"Francis, do you have a bobby pin or something?"  
"No, we left too fast, I had no time for such vanities."  
"God fucking _damnit..._ Have we checked all the doors and windows?"  
"All that we can reach."  
"Alfred doesn't have a ladder in his yard?"  
"No."  
"How the hell are we supposed to get in then?!"  
"I don't fucking know!"  
Three of the four nations sat bickering over getting into the house, Arthur, Francis and a very frightened Kiku were all shouting, worrying the neighbours who wouldn't dare let their children outside to play. Then all three suddenly went silent as a loud crash sounded, and Ivan walked back outside the house, softly rubbing his shoulder from it's impact on the door. No alarms sounded, and the keypad at the door showed obvious signs of tampering, as well as the alarm.  
"Did- Did you just?-"

Arthur stuttered, eyes wide.  
 _"_ _Knock down the door?_ _Да. The alarms are disabled for the moment."_  
Ivan said, his monotone more serious and menacing than usual. After his words he immediately walked into the house, searching around and opening every door to see where Alfred's room was. The others slowly walked inside, Kiku picking the busted door up off the floor and leaning it against the doorframe to fix later. Heavy footsteps climbed up the stairs, as Ivan ascended to the next floor, desperate to find the missing nation.

"Arthur, over here!"  
Francis called, kneeling next to one of many dark pools that stained the carpet, this one somewhat dry. The Englishman practically ran, and gasped softly when he saw what Francis was looking at, knowing they both had the same idea.  
"Are- Are these-"  
"Oui… It's-... It's blood. They're all blood."  
Arthur teared up again, panicked by just how many fucking stains there were. He was soon hugged by Francis, who slowly rocked him back and forth in an attempt to calm the representation of England. Kiku just stood there, emotionally frozen at just how bad it was. He could tell, as there was nothing dirty in the house besides the consistent dark spots that stained nearly every surface. The furniture, tables, chairs, countertops, all over the carpet, and on just about every sharp corner in the house. Alfred's place was _always_ dirty, and his kitchen, his kitchen was always full. Now there was nothing in the small room, nothing at all. The only things being pepper and crushed ice, and it was obvious the pepper was never used. Then there was a soft sob from upstairs that caught everyone's attention, as well as soft cries that sounded extremely painful to anyone's ears. Arthur, in his anxiety, tore himself from Francis's arms and dashed up the stairs, closely followed by everyone else.

In Alfred's room, Ivan was kneeling in the floor, the frail blonde in his arms, and held against his chest, shaking, whining and crying out in pain, not from being held, but from sheer starvation and exhaustion. Even after so many periods of starvation in his country, it had never been this bad. And Ivan, the biggest, toughest fucking country in the entire world was _sobbing_. _Fucking sobbing_ over Alfred as he held him, his strong arms shaking softly as tears ran down his pale face. To the other three nations, it was one of the most shocking things they had ever seen, and everyone was frozen. Ivan never did anything but smile and speak in his indifferent monotone, his only emotions either menacing or happy, and to see him this emotional, this raw and broken at the sight of Alfred, was more than just a surprise. Francis was the first to move, taking a small step forward and reaching out.  
"...Ivan-"  
 _ **"**_ _ **NIET"**_

He growled, not loud, but deep, dark, and terrifying as he looked up at the blonde, tears still streaming down his angry and defensive face. It was like a bear mourning the loss of all it's cubs, and no one dared move, for fear of being maimed. Alfred let out another cry, this one quite pained, and Ivan immediately dropped the defensiveness, becoming soft as he looked back to the shaking nation and gently pet his bony face, soft Russian being sang to the blonde. Francis, Kiku, and Arthur stepped out of the room, leaving the two be.  
"Has Ivan always been?-"  
Kiku asked, a little confused until Arthur spoke up.  
"He's been protective of Alfred even as a tiny little nation. Alfred doesn't remember it, but he used to play with Ivan all the time."  
Francis continued, solemnly nodding.  
"He has always been protective of Matthieu as well. When they both grew up, he distanced himself, but he's always checked in. I do not know why he never stayed in contact with them, or even let them know he cared, but he protects them both, from a distance."  
Kiku looked at the floor, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.  
"I-I never even knew."  
"He doesn't let anyone know."  
Both european nations said, looking at each other before Arthur continued.  
"It's only us. I called him on this trip because if I didn't, he would've gotten here before us, and never let us in."

Kiku just nodded, and looked to the floor, trying to comprehend all that was happening. Maybe it was all just a nightmare? Maybe he was dreaming… Yeah… The small man slumped against the wall, slowly sinking to the ground and hugging his knees to his chest, cutting off from the others. Arthur had been placed back in Francis's arms, softly crying as the Frenchman tried his hardest to be the strong one, and comfort his lover. Everything was falling apart, and it seemed the only thing anyone could ever do was cry. Francis took a deep breath and picked Arthur up bridal style, still holding the blonde to his chest, and carried him downstairs to set him on the couch.  
"Stay here, I'll be right back, amour."  
He said, walking back up the stairs and kneeling next to Kiku.  
"Can you come downstairs, darling? For me?"  
The soft tone made the raven haired man nod, and slowly get to his feet, silent in every aspect as he was walked downstairs and to the couch, burying himself into the soft corner as Francis sat down, only to be clung to by Arthur.  
"Ssssh, mon amour, it's okay. I promise you'll be okay. It'll all be okay, Ssshhh…"


	8. The Bear, The Dog, And The Mouse

**WARNING: FUCKING CHRIST IF YOU DONT GET THE POINT BY NOW THEN WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU**

 _ **AN: Sorry for the short update. Y'know depression and such. Still, here we are. Again, the comments and reviews make my heart soar, and the adorable comments heal my heart a bit every time I see one. Anywho, hope y'all enjoy.**_

It was dark outside, and most everyone was composed. Everyone but the two upstairs. After multiple attempts to walk into the room, Ivan had just growled at Francis, looking more than just terrifying as he held Alfred. Kiku had searched the house after a small panic attack, and was working on screwing the front door back in place, having a bit of trouble due to the bent wood. Francis stood next to Arthur as they planned meals, as no one had eaten anything yet that day. They'd called the White House, and there was a special hospice crew coming over to help the other countries with Alfred's condition, even though the others knew how to treat Alfred perfectly well, you couldn't exactly just buy IV's at your local supermarket.  
"Francis?..."  
"Yes, amour?"  
"Do you-... Do you think Alfred did this because of me?..."  
Francis sighed, and kissed Arthur's cheek, rubbing his back and comforting him.  
"Ma cherie, you can't blame yourself for this. No one knows why he did this to himself, don't jump to such conclusions."  
"I was just so- so _nasty_ to him!"  
Arthur sobbed, getting horrible emotional again as he started to tear up, thanking any powers that be that he had Francis, who kissed the small tears away as he overreacted again. In all truth, the Brit was a very, very emotional man, and hated himself for it. Francis was the only one able to calm him down, and Arthur clung to his love, breathing in the blonde's scent to relax a little before he began sobbing again.  
"Fleur, please, come to your senses, we need to go shopping soon, I can't have you like this in the middle of the market."  
Francis said, his voice tired and unhappy as he comforted Arthur for the millionth time that day. Arthur stood up straight, wiping his tears and grabbing the small piece of paper listing the food needed.  
"Alright, alright, I-I'm fine. Let's just go."  
Arthur took Francis's hand, and walked with him past Kiku, and then to the car, keeping his eyes to the ground.

As the two drove off, Kiku dropped the screwdriver and ran upstairs, carefully clearing his throat and making Ivan aware of his presence before entering, dark eyes worried at the sight of the two. Ivan, tearful and protective, and Alfred, crying silently in his coma-like state, clinging to the Russian's warmth.  
"Ivan-san, do you need anything?"  
Kiku asked, slowly kneeling next to the two, an ant compared to the large men beside him.  
"When a-are the- the _медсестры_... The nurses, when are they coming?"  
The Russian asked, softly brushing the blonde's hair out of his face, the affection in Ivan's eyes more than anything that Kiku had ever seen.  
"I think tomorrow…."  
Kiku answered, his voice small and soft, almost like a mouse. It was all kind of fitting, the bear, the dog and the mouse all together, caring for each other. Almost like a fairy tale.  
"I-Ivan-san, do- do you-... _Love_ Alfred?"  
He asked, hesitant, but curious all the same. Kiku had seen it for awhile now, when Ivan thought no one was looking, he gazed at the American beauty with eyes and a heart full to bursting with admiration, the way one would look at their first love. It was heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time, and the little Japanese man never really knew how to bring it up in conversation.

 ** _"_** ** _Yes."_**  
Ivan stated simply, his demeanour bittersweet as Alfred seemed to finally relax, mumbling something indecipherable as he smiled oh so softly and buried himself in the bigger country's strong chest. It was adorable in every sense of the world, and Ivan let out an exhausted and amused chuckle, just happy that the blonde was no longer sobbing in pain.  
"I've loved him for a long time… _I-I can't believe I let this happen_ …"  
Kiku rubbed Ivan's shoulder, gentle and sympathetic as he comforted the large man,  
"It's not your fault, don't beat yourself up like that, _please_."  
He said, looking up to Ivan as sat with the two, gentle and exhausted breath filling the air as they all stayed there, finally relaxing after such a hard day.

"Arthur, please stop fighting me about this. I'm going to be cooking, and you're just going to have to deal with it."  
Arthur had been arguing the entire duration of their shopping trip, his defensive anger getting the best of him as he pined and begged, trying to get Francis trying to let him cook something.  
"Love, please-"  
The cart stopped, and the Frenchman looked at his lover, his handsome and usually calm face now weighted with exhaustion showed irritation. He gripped the Brit's shoulders in his hands and looked Arthur straight in the eyes, trying to get his message across.

"Look. Arthur. I love you. I really do. But right now I need you to stop. You need to keep your spine and fend for yourself. I want you to cook for him, but you get nervous and burn everything when I'm not there with you. Arthur, I don't have the energy to babysit you right now."

The two stood there for a second, just caught up in each other as Arthur took a deep breath, nodding.  
"I'm sorry, I just- "  
"No- _stop._ No excuses. Please. We need to focus on Alfred this time, not us."  
The rest of the trip was in silence, Arthur wiping small tears from emerald eyes, and Francis holding himself high in an illusion of control. God knows the two needed it.

The house was silent as the couple returned, the door halfway on and bent, standing but just barely, a bit of a haunting metaphor for the entire situation. Bags were set on the counter, and Francis headed upstairs, a hand on Arthur's chest to tell him to stay downstairs. The Frenchman cautiously peeked through the door, expecting to meet a deep and menacing growl from Ivan, but instead saw a sweet scene, the three sleeping peacefully, against each other. The bear the dog and the mouse, symbols of everlasting friendship and eternal love.

 _Something very much needed in such dark times._


End file.
